


Unnerving

by dudewhatswiththeshorts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Gore, Grinding, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Kisses, M/M, Minor Angst, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewhatswiththeshorts/pseuds/dudewhatswiththeshorts
Summary: Very few things unnerve Dean Winchester. Three dead bodies drained of blood? Dean can handle dead bodies. He can handle vampires. He can even handle when people claim to have seen the three victims walking around town way pass their expiration date. What Dean can’t handle? Sharing a bed with Cas for a week. Now that is unnerving.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snailpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snailpal/gifts).



> Not yet beta'd.

They have the windows rolled down, him and Cas. The sound of the wind fills the silence, fills the gaps where they don’t talk. They haven’t talked much since Dean was ready to die. They haven’t spoken since Cas asked to die with him. 

Dean still has nightmares about hell and he has nightmares about purgatory. About the apocalypse and the time he almost killed his brother. Now he only dreams of an empty world and of the temptation that the Darkness brought him. He dreams about the taste of destruction on her lips, the sight of her hand in hand with God. Somehow, these are worse than anything. These dreams prove that monsters can learn to be human, learn to be good, and yet Dean is still a bunch of wrong-doings wrapped up inside the flesh of a man and there’s no change in sight. 

Dean doesn’t sleep anymore, but he dozes. He falls in and out of consciousness as the days drag on. Cas drives the Impala now. Drives her still and steady because Dean is too tired. He misses the shake of the steering wheel under his hands. His hands shake for different reasons now. He has to drink coffee with lids so he doesn’t spill it onto the leather interior of his baby.

Dean doesn’t have any coffee now. Instead, he has a bottle of water that he holds between his thighs. It’s tepid and the taste of plastic leeches from the bottle. He doesn’t drink it and instead he watches through the window at the fading light. The sun is setting and Dean can’t look at Cas when it’s hidden partially over the horizon. In the pink, dimming light, he looks like an angel again. He looks holy and untouchable even though he’s fragile and broken. It’s Dean’s fault that Cas is like this now. He shuts his eyes tight, clenches his unsteady fists, takes a deep breath. If Cas notices any of these things, he doesn’t comment. When the anxiety and the guilt leave him, he opens his eyes and takes a breath.

Cas speaks. He says, “Being cold is a strange, human feeling.”

The quiet around them ripples. Dean contemplates not replying and instead trying to fix the silence they had going. The safety blanket of the Impala’s purr as their only background noise. After a moment, Dean sighs and turns on the radio. He wants something to sing while he speaks.

“Yeah, I guess.”

The radio changes songs to Iron Man by Black Sabbath and Dean turns up the music. He doesn’t sing along, and instead he thinks about what Cas said and wonders if they should roll the windows up. He turns down the music. “Are you cold?”

Cas shrugs and the light bounces off his shoulders and the sun sinks lower behind the hills. “I… I guess I am,” he says finally, “Humanity is strange, Dean. So many feelings and emotions. It feels less…whole. Being an angel feels hardy and satisfactory, like a… well, like eating a peanut butter jelly sandwich. Being a human is so much more complicated. Like Indian food. So many spices and flavors. I cannot read myself like I once did. Cold, one word, translates to many different things, feelings, and not all of them relate to temperature. I’m having a hard time figuring out what type of…of chill I’m feeling today.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

 

 

-

 

 

Sunny’s Motel in Brucester, Kansas is in the middle of nowhere. The stars are out and they shine brighter than the neon vacancy sign in the motel window does. Cas pulls the Impala into the parking lot. Dean’s head taps against the window where he’s leaning and not for the first time, he wishes that he’d been able to sleep in the car.

They walk inside the motel together, their duffles in hand. For a second it feels like this is another battle. They’re walking into the field, ready to kill and be killed.

They’re not going to die today, however. Instead, they’re just going to sleep. 

“A double, thanks,” Dean says tiredly, passing his credit card up to the the man at the front desk. He has a beard and a hat tipped low over his brow.

“Sorry, son, all out of doubles.”

Dean sighs. “What’d you got, then?”

“A single with a king,” the man reveals slowly. He glances between Dean and Cas. Dean knows how this looks, but he really doesn’t care right now. He rolls his eyes, but otherwise says nothing on the matter.

“How much?” He asks instead. 

“Sixty.”

Dean would try and argue the price down on a normal night, but he’s tired and his hands won’t stop shaking so he just nods. “Yeah, sure.”

They rent the room for four nights, enough time to track down the vamp nest and exterminate it. Dean used to be able to get the job done in three days tops, but Dean is getting older and he can’t handle getting thrown across a room as well as he used to. That’s why Cas comes with him now instead of letting him go on solo jobs. Sam’s recuperating from his encounter with the Women of Letters, and Mary’s doing her best to nurse him back to health. Cas and Dean are the only Winchesters on call.

The room is daunting, one bed with a heavy comforter and too many pillows. The rug in the room is stained and the chair in the corner is broken and the lamp lets out dim, crackling light. Dean doesn’t care about those things, though, because those things are at other motels. One bed he has to share with Castiel is a little bit different. A little too intimate.

“I’ll take the floor,” Dean offers. 

“If you’re sure,” Cas says. The way he speaks is slow and confused, like he doesn’t understand why Dean wouldn’t want the bed. Dean doesn’t give him an answer.

Dean sets his duffle down in the corner of the room, carefully rummaging through it for his toothbrush and toothpaste, putting them on the table beside him for a moment as he unlaces his boots and peels of his socks. 

He makes his way to the bathroom shortly after and takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are sunken and rimmed red with sleep deprivation. He looks as tired and as awful as he feels.

Cas joins him in the bathroom to brush his teeth. Dean used to give him shit for it, claiming that two, six feet tall men can’t cram together in one motel bathroom. Cas ignored him then and he still ignore him now. Their elbows bump as the brush their teeth because Cas is an ambidextrous son-of-a-bitch who prefers to use his left hand for things like this, preserving his right hand for writing. Dean’s complained multiple times, but Cas has always been stubborn.

With Dean’s boots off, Cas seems taller, and without his trench coat, he seems bigger and broader. His t-shirt stretches over his chest, showing obvious muscles that were hidden for so many years, giving him the illusion of being small. The Winchesters underestimated him over the years. Seeing him like this, unholy and so goddamn human makes him seem so much more powerful. 

He’s weak in this form, despite his looks, and it’s all Dean’s fault. 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

He doesn’t remember his dreams. When he came back from hell he did. They were vivid, more like memories than anything. It was mostly the same. Every night he would dream about black eyes and a rotting soul. He would dream about peeling the skin off of innocent women that sold their soul for something kind. He would chip away at these spirits, cut the space between their fingers and rip their fingernails off their body. Cut into their stomachs and arms and legs and face. Scoop out their eyes and their brain and their hearts.

Those nightmares were easy to remember.

The ones he have now are more complicated. Hard to decipher and leaving an empty feeling in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He sees Amara and he sees himself and he knows that one is worse than the other. He can’t get the picture of Amara and God’ hands intertwined out of his head. He can't get the picture of the Nothing that Billie threatened to throw Dean into once in for all from entering his dreams. They're jumbled and unsure, these dreams.

They end abruptly, leaving Dean sweaty and disoriented from his makeshift bed on the floor of the room. Blue eyes hang over him, wide and concerned.

“Dean?” Cas murmurs when he sees that Dean has woken up, “Dean, what do I do? Are you okay?”

"I'm peachy," Dean coughs.

Cas looks unconvinced, and he settles on his heals, allowing Dean to sit up and off of the floor, his hair plastered to the side of his face.

“You were screaming,” Cas says, bewildered.

“I was dreaming,” Dean corrects before it occurs to him that Cas has rarely witnessed these new, haunting nightmares. 

Cas looks at him with an unsure face and a an accusatory, “Dean,” sounds into the room. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, man. I’m good. It’s normal. Go back to bed.”

“No.”

“Cas, man, come on,” Dean sighs.

"Take the bed,” Cas offers, “I'll be perfectly fine on the floor.”

A pitiful image of human, homeless Cas from two years comes to mind, sleeping on the ground and picking food from the dumpster. Dean wants Cas to have a nice, warm bed. He doesn’t want him to suffer anymore.

“I got my four hours, already. I can just hang down here until sun up,” Dean shrugs.

Cas doesn’t buy the excuse one bit. “We can share the bed, Dean. It’s big enough. Even for two grown men.”

Dean looks to protest once more, a chill of fear and light arousal tingly down his spine, but the convinced look on Cas’ face makes him sigh heavily instead. “Nothings gonna get you off my back, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” Dean groans, “I’ll share the stupid bed with you. But if I make it difficult for you to sleep with my, um, night problems, I’m moving back to the floor.”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas immediately gets up and heads back to the bed, getting on his side of it. 

Dean makes it to his feet, his back cracking as he stretches. He gazes at Cas, reality starting to settle in. It’s just sharing a shitty ass bed together in a motel in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like they’re getting freakin’ married or anything. Still, Dean’s scared of what this might mean for them. How this will change their friendship, change it’s dynamic.

As Cas moves the shitty motel blankest back into place and settles himself under them, Dean finally gets his ass into gear and heads toward the bed. At least the bed is a king, he thinks as he slips under the blankets. They’re close enough that if they wanted, they could reach out touch their calves together and play footies under the heavy covers, wrap their arms around each other and fall asleep like that.

But they’re both fucking cowards and it’s Dean’s fault that Cas left behind a better world, a better existence. So they pretend to sleep on opposite sides of the mattress until it’s seven in the morning and the diner in town is finally open.

 

 

-

 

Even after being tortured by some hot, British babes for days, Sam is unfazed and eager to help with the hunt. After a hardy breakfast of heart-stopping grease and black coffee, Cas and Dean returned to the motel to pin up the information Sam was yelling at them about over speakerphone.

“Hey, so, listen to this. Forty-nine year old George Walsh, twenty-eight year old Sarah Bend, and thirty year old Karen McGlover were all found dead, drained of blood, in a grave yard in Wichita.”

“So, vamps, right?” Dean confirms, sitting on the bed with a bottle of bear in hand. Cas is pinning up evidence to the wall in the motel. Dean bites his lip every time Cas’ shirt rides up and a sliver of skin shows itself. He’s tanner than Dean ever thought he would be. He’s not bad looking by any stretch. It’s not just Cas’ vessel that Dean likes so much, but the way Cas carries himself. He’s confident, even with his slight slouch, and he’s self assured. It does a number of things to Dean, seeing him like that. 

“…what I thought, but– Dean? Dean are you even listening?” Sam nags from over the phone, prying Dean from his thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m listening.”

“Sure. Whatever,” Sam scoffs, “Anyway, I thought it was vamps at first, too, but, check this out: Sarah Bend wasn’t just drained of blood, but she was also partially _eaten_ when they found her.”

“Eaten?” Well, the vamps in hibbing went Hannibal Lecter on their victims too.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t that seem strange? That there would be multiple nests like that?” Sam inquires. It feels like he’s talking more to himself that to Dean.

Dean shrugs even though his brother can’t see him. He starts staring at Cas’ skin again, looks at the shape of his back, the slope of his shoulders. It’s the closest Dean will ever be to getting… intimate with Cas. He can admire from afar, find pleasure in the art work of Cas’ body shape.

“Hello? Dean? Did you hear what I said?”

“Right, right, strange that more than one vamp would do that or whatever. Yeah, I hear ya. Anyway, I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure we’re on a vamp case, so–”

“Which means you might need backup–”

“–I think we’re good here–”

“–because vamps are difficult when you’re with an unexperienced hunter–”

“I’ll talk to you later, bitch.”

“And– wait, Dean!”

“Listen. Sam. We’ll be fine. It’s just a vamp nest. I’ve ridden this rodeo enough times to know how it works.”

Sam sighs, low and deep and bitchy as hell. “Fine. But if you get into _any trouble–”_

“I’ll call you. Yeah. I know.”

“Actually, I was gonna say that mom would whip your ass,” Dean hears the cheeky, younger brother tattle-tale note in Sam’s voice and he snorts. “In all seriousness, Dean, call me. I’ll find someone to come help you guys if you need it.”

Dean smiles. He’d never admit it, but his brother’s concern is touching. “Yeah, alright. See you in a few days.”

“Call me!” Sam manages to get in once more before Dean hangs up the phone.

Dean takes another sip of bear and throws his phone further up the bed.

“What did Sam have to say?” Cas asks once a few minutes of silence has passed and he finishes pinning up their evidence.

“Stuff about the vics. Things we already knew,” Dean admits, “Oh, and, uh, he mentioned that the second victim, Sarah, was partially eaten as well as drained of blood. And uhhh, he also said they were all found in a graveyard.”

Cas makes a thoughtful humming noise.

“What?”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s– nothing. Just… it feels like this might not be vampires. I don’t know. It probably is. This entire case just feels very strange.”

Dean smiles grins, big and toothy and sarcastic as hell. “Strange is in the job description, buddy.”

Cas smiles back, not as wide, but genuine. “I suppose it is.”

 

 

-

 

 

Brucester’s morgue is basically a shack in the center of town next to the general store and across from the town’s police station.

They pull up in front, Baby’s purr cutting out as Dean pulls the key out of the ignition.

He turns to face Cas, face serious. “Okay, dude, remember. No angel talk or demon talk. No supernatural talk. Just… normal human talk, got it?”

“I’ve learned from my mistakes, Dean. I’ve improved in my hunting and social skills I can assure you,” Cas sasses.

“Just making sure, dude. Don’t want a repeat of–”

“Something that happened over half a decade ago?” Cas asks. There’s a kind of anger simmering under the surface. It’s not quite celestial, but it feels magical, almost. Tangible. Unpredictable.

“Alright, I get it,” Dean backs off, swallow down his nerves, “Just making sure.”

They get out of the car together, awkwardness hanging thick in the air along with the heat of Kansas. The police station isn’t air conditioned, but there are three or four electric fans cranking and wheezing as they try to produce as much air as possible. Dean’s fed suit is sticky and stuffy and uncomfortable and he tugs at the collar when they reach the front desk.

“Agent Anderson. This is my partner Agent Duchovny,” Dean introduces himself and Cas, both of them producing their badges in sync before quickly flipping them closed. “We’re here to investigate the murders of–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know why you’re here,” the front desk clerk mutters. His hair is cut short and his teeth are crooked. “You need visiter passes.”

Dean gives a tight lipped smile, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

The clerk just rolls his eyes and rummages around for the clip on passes. He makes sure to touch Dean’s entire hand when handing him the badge. It’s kind of…uncomfortable. He gives Dean an indecipherable look that makes his skin crawl. The entire situation is just plain _gross._ Dean’s used to the old ladies flirting with Sam. He is not used to the creeper men flirting with him. 

When they’re both signed in, Cas and Dean head down the only hall in the building, happy to be away from the desk clerk.

“What a prick,” Dean mumbles under his breath. Cas hears the words as he snorts. The feeling of making Cas laugh is warm and fuzzy in Dean’s stomach. It’s a good feeling. He tries to hang onto it, savor it, for as long as possible.

When they get to the coroner’s office, Dean knocks before allowing himself in. A middle-aged blonde with glasses sits at a desk in the corner of the room writing. She looks up when she sees them come in, taking off her glasses and standing up.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I’m Agent Anderson and this is my partner Agent Duchovny. We’re here to inspect the bodies of George Walsh, Karen McGlover, and–”

“Sarah Bend,” the coroner finishes for Dean. She looks sad. “I’m Erica Bend, Sarah’s aunt.”

“Oh,” Dean says, like an idiot, “I’m very sorry about what happened to your niece.”

Erica gives Dean a fake smile. “I am too.” 

Dean makes it farther into the room as she turns and begins to pull out one of the vics. It must be George Walsh, considering it’s the only man here. Cas dwells by the door, but eventually realizes he should follow Dean. He makes it up next to him, inspects the body with careful eyes. 

George Walsh was a thin guy, but the lack of blood makes him look… deflated. Fragile. His skin is drained of color, leaving him a pale, sickly kind of color.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. 

Erica grimaces, “I know. What kind of psycho does something like this?”

Dean shakes his head in mock-confusion. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Erica sighs, “Alright, let me get you guys some gloves and we’ll have a look around.”

While the coroner turns her back, Cas finally talks after such a long moment of silence. He leans in real close to Dean, so close that it get’s Dean’s heart rate up, makes his breath come out shallow and sweet. Dean feels Cas’ breath against his neck as he speaks. “There’s no bite marks on his neck.”

Dean hums in affirmation. He should probably take those words into more consideration, but Cas is still so close. He hasn’t moved away yet, his lips brushing against Dean’s ear as he talks, “Do you see his wrists?” Dean nods. “Slit, drained. Quick and efficient.”

“So, you think it wasn’t vamps?” Dean asks, trying to find his voice.

Cas huffs through his nose and the feeling makes Dean shiver. “I think we’re dealing with very organized vampires. It’s too clean to be a crime done from instinctual rage.”

Dean’s about to reply, but Erica is walking back with gloves for the hunters and Cas is moving away. Dean almost pouts, but he doesn’t.

 

 

-

 

 

“Wait– so, their wrists were slit? Not even bitten? Or- or mutilated?”

When Dean asked Cas if he wanted to hit the bar that night, he was rejected. Apparently, Cas had told Sam they would call him that night. Sam gets prissy if Dean doesn’t do follow-up calls.

“Both George Walsh and Karen McGlover had one scar on each wrist” Cas informs after pestering Dean to put Sam on speaker, “Although it may not seem like ‘our thing,’ it makes sense why Sarah Bend was eaten. These vampires drain the blood in ways that are less likely to call the hunter community to them, but then they get ravenous after feeding so little and they end up eating part of Sarah because of their poor impulse control.”

Sam makes a contemplative noise over the phone, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He huffs. “I guess it just… feels different than our usual vamp hunt.”

Dean makes a grunt of agreement.

“Yes, I have found this hunt is… off,” Cas hums, “Erica– the coroner –informed us that Sarah’s time of death was three days before her body was found despite her having been alive and social with her ring of friends during those days.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Tell me about it,” Dean grumbles.

“No, seriously. What the hell?” Sam huffs, “You think it’s a vamp who ate her and then her spirit stayed behind and she became a ghost?”

“I don’t know, ghosts usually come out to haunt people not to… _socialize_ ,” Dean points out.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sam laughs lightly, “I guess it’s just… it’s still… _weird_.”

“I know. So, uh, we’re gonna check out some abandoned buildings tomorrow and stuff. Look for a nest,” Dean says, “Keep an eye out for any lore on this, though, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Dean. Not a problem.”

“Thanks,” Dean sighs. “Anyway, uh, tell mom I say hi.”

“Please relay the same message from me as well,” Cas squeezes in before Sam hangs up the phone.

Dean snorts. “Dude. You and my mom as friends is still the weirdest goddamn thing.”

“Not as weird as this case,” Cas teases.

“Nope. Definitely weirder. The weirdest thing ever. And I’ve fought fairies. Twice.” Dean gives sends him a grin. “Let’s go grab some grub.”

 

 

-

 

 

Dean wakes up to a warm body against him.

Well, not completely against him– it’s not like they’re spooning or anything. Instead, Cas is laying on his stomach, diagonally across the bed, his legs resting over Dean’s pelvis. It’s… not exactly how Dean expected they would end up. He’d had this ridiculous idea that Cas would end up presses against him, arms wrapped around him, hard cock pressed between his asscheeks….

And, okay, that’s definitely becoming a little more than some morning wood.

Dean knows Cas is a heavy sleeper and, logically, he knows that he could roll Cas off the bed and the guy would still be asleep. Logically, Dean would just get out of the bed and not care about the legs draped over him, a strangely comforting weight that makes him tingle where the hairy calves touch. 

Dean is not a very logical person, however, and he tries to scoot out from under the legs as carefully as possible so he doesn’t wake Cas up. There’s a scenario running in his head over and over– Cas waking up, seeing his half-hard dick and being disgusted with Dean. Never wanting to hunt with him again.

Leaving.

Fuck, Dean cannot handle all these emotions this early in the morning.

When he finally gets out from under Cas without waking him (shocker), Dean makes a beeline for the bathroom to take a nice, cold shower… or maybe a hot one. Dean hasn’t had a nice jerk off session in a few weeks. Sure, he’s had rushed ones, but Cas is asleep and the water pressure at this motel isn’t _the worst_ he’s encountered.

Mind made up, Dean locks the bathroom door and turns on the shower, turning up the temperature until their steam billowing. Dean loves a stingingly hot shower. He strips down until he’s completely naked, goosebumps erupting and nipples pebbling at the cold of the bathroom despite the steam raising from his shower. He steps in and hisses at the feeling before he relaxes into the water and takes his dick in hand.

Yeah, that’s nice. 

He begins to stroke himself slowly, tease himself, draw it out. When he’s with a partner, Dean tries to make them as happy as he can. When he’s by himself, Dean likes to bring himself as much pleasure as he possibly can. His own little self-worship routine wrapped inside of sex. Maybe it’s unhealthy, but nothing in his life has ever been that healthy.

Dean lets his mind wander. Usually he thinks about some of the girls from a Busty Asian Beauties magazine. Long hair, pale skin, small hands wrapped around his dick. 

Today is different.

Every once in a while his mind wanders and he begins to think of Cas. Today is that day. He imagines Cas pressed up against him, imagines him rubbing his dick against Dean’s. Thinks about stoking each other to completion.

Dean also thinks of… non-traditional things. He imagines the kisses. Not the long, sloppy ones, but the soft ones. The kisses against his shoulder or his chest or his nose. Small ones that press… love into his skin. Dean comes, silently with only a silent gasp against his lips. He comes to the thought of blue eyes, dark hair and little kisses against him.

 

 

-

 

Dinner the previous night had led to a discussion about the case. Cas had done his research and asked around about any haunted houses in the area. The small town had two that were well known, an old, creaking house built when the town was built and a small shack by the old watering hole. After digging in deeper, he found an abandoned barn, left to rot in 2006, but still well preserved despite that. It seemed like a pretty spot on place for vampires stay, and they both made up their mind to go there the next day.

With a few hours to kill before the afternoon, when the vampires will most likely be asleep, Cas suggests they go to the annual crafts fair. Dean had protested at first, but after Cas’ silent disappointment he finally gave in.

The crafts fair is… nicer than Dean expected. It’s in a big park and there are at least a dozen or so booths set up with nice canopies over them for the townsfolk to stand in the shade. A few tables and chairs are set up near the back where a local restaurant is selling sandwiches. Dean can smell the food from the front of the fair where him and Cas buy a roll of tickets for twenty dollars to share between them.

“We’re spending good money on this. You better be grateful,” Dean says.

“I am.” Cas smiles and Dean’s heart squeezes.

The grass under foot is dead, mostly worn away to dirt, but the sky is blue and there’s a breeze blowing which makes the fair seem a little more worth it. Most of the booths are how-to crafting tables, however a few are games and some are local shops. As they walk through, a jewelry stand catches Dean’s eye. He sees a little girl playing with the rings on display. The rings are solid bands. They remind him of his mother’s wedding ring, and he almost goes over to the booth. Instead, he allows Cas to drag him over to a game.

“Howdy,” the man at the booth greets. He has a grey mustache and an ugly button down shirt.

“How much for a game?” Dean asks.

“One ticket for three tries. If you can knock all the bottles down in three tries, you get a small prize. If you knock them down in two tries you get a medium prize. If you knock them down in one try, you get the grand prize!” 

“What’s the grand prize?”

The man smiles. “A coupon to Mary Anne’s Gift Shop and a stuffed animal of your choice from the prize booth.”

Cas shrugs. “Okay. I’ll play.”

Dean tries to give Cas a look that says _Don’t play, these things are stupid_ , but Cas doesn’t see it. He plucks a ticket from Dean’s hands and gives it to the man.

“Thank you, thank you!” The man sings. He places the ticket in a box and then bends down to retrieve three tennis balls from somewhere on the floor.

Cas takes them and frowns, inspecting them.

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” Dean sighs.

Cas shakes his head, “Nothing. These are very light and it will be difficult to win the grand prize.”

“You want a giant stuffed animal, Cas?”

Cas shakes his head again, “No. Any prize will do.”

Dean laughs a bit at that, but Cas doesn’t notice. He turns and faces the empty beer bottles stacked in a pyramid form. He rolls the tennis ball in his palm and Dean watches him. He likes Cas’ hands. They’re big and strong and his fingers are long and–

Okay. Gotta stop thinking about that or else Dean will get an inappropriate boner thinking about what those fingers can do to him. 

Finally, after a good few seconds of him sizing up his target, Cas sets his arm back, ready to throw the ball. The man at the booth seems bored with all the waiting he has to do for Cas to throw his ball already. Just as the man is about to yell at him, Cas follows through and propels the ball through the air. He hits the pyramid, perfectly in the center and it wobbles before the top three rows sway and fall onto the grass. A little more than one full row remain. Cas huffs.

“You’ve still got two more shots, boy, make them count!” The manner of the booth reminds.

Cas clenches his jaw, clearly annoyed by the commentary. He winds up his arm and tosses the tennis ball at the left side of the pyramid where the remaining second row trembles. He makes his mark and three bottles topple down. Four left to go.

“You’re so close to success!” The man cheers.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on Cas, you got this,” he encourages. Cas has done better than he thought he would. The angel was badass with his mojo, but he wasn’t used to his human mobility and his coordination was off in the new body. 

Dean stands behind Cas and places a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes. He allows the warmth from Cas radiate over to him. He basks in that feeling.

Cas winds up for a third time. He stares intently on the last four bottles in the row. They’re the sturdiest ones right now _and_ he has to throw with a tennis ball. The ball is light, and Cas has to throw his weight into it. If he does that, his accuracy will be compromised. Dean wonders if he’ll be able to make it. He crosses his fingers because he’s feeling good and wants to hope luck finds them.

Cas throws the ball. It sails through the air in what seems to be slow motion before it nears the bottles. 

Then it misses.

“Fuck!” Cas curses. 

Dean feels a strange wave of disappointment fall over him.

“Sorry, boys! Better luck next–”

“I want three more balls,” Dean says before the man can even finish his sentence. He slides another ticket over the counter. 

The man raises and eyebrow and grins. “Alright. Just give me a moment to put the bottles back and we’ll try this again.”

Dean nods and then turns to Cas. “You got this. We’re gonna win this.”

“Why must I play _again_ Dean, once was humiliating enough.”

“Because _everyone_ spends money on these games and complains and bitches and moans and loses all the time!” Dean groans.

Cas just looks confused.

Dean wipes a hand over his face and sighs, “Alright, whatever. Are you still up to doing this? Think you can win?”

Despite Cas’ uncertain facial expression, he nods. Dean grins and pats Cas on the back.

“Alright, three balls for the gentlemen,” the man grins, handing the tennis balls over to Cas. 

Castiel makes sure to glare at Dean before receiving them. Dean just smiles.

Cas winds up and releases the ball, throws it as hard as he can to the middle of the pyramid. The ball whizzes through the air and successfully knocks the first three rows off of it like the last time, however there are more bottles on the fourth row this time. Cas makes an annoyed sound at that. He aims and throws his second ball, makes sure to get it smack dab in the center.

He gets his mark.

The center bottles topple over onto their side, rolling off the table and onto the floor, bringing down the last layer of bottles with it as it goes.

When the last bottle rolls to a stop, Dean gasps.

“Dude, you won.”

“I…I won,” Cas repeats.

“Dude.”

The man smiles grandly and reaches down under his counter to take out a small bell. He rings it and smiles. “Our first winners of the day! On two shots, you get a medium prize.”

He places the bell down and slips a paper out of his pocket and hands it to Dean. On the paper says “Good For One Medium Prize of Choice.”

Dean grins and hands the paper to Cas to keep with him. Castiel smiles broadly and happily, “Awesome.”

They leave the booth and walk the fair a little more, soaking in the afterglow of winning the game. They go to find the prize booth which is next to the restaurant at the back of the events. They find the place quickly, as it is brightly colored and cheerful. Cas and Dean walk up to it and are greeted by a beautiful asian woman with a pink shirt and a round face.

“I won a game,” Cas says when they get up to the booth. Dean snorts.

“Yep. He won a game. So now we’re here.”

The woman laughs and smiles. “Can I see your prize ticket, please?”

Cas nods and hands it over right away. 

“A medium prize. Cool. Alright, you can get any of this stuff over here or laid out in front of you,” the woman informs.

Cas smiles and looks through the booth for a while. The woman mostly has stuffed animals like bears and bugs and wolves and cats and other popular animals, but she has a few movies, books, posters, and other things. Dean knows he would get a movie, but Cas looks around and inspects all the stuffed animals in the section the woman gestured at.

When he finally makes up his mind, Cas points at what he wants. “May I have the cat plushy?”

The woman looks surprised. “Grumpy cat?”

Dean scoffs. “Seriously, Cas?”

Castiel frowns, “You don’t like it?”

“I don’t know. Not really. It’s a kids thing.”

Cas look deep in thought for a moment. “Okay. Then can I have a movie instead?”

“Sorry sweets, movies are more expensive. But the other things on the table count.”

Castiel looks even more troubled by this. “Then…,” he hesitates, “Then can I maybe have a ring?”

Dean follows where Cas is looking and sees a fake hand display with multiple rings on it.

The woman knits her eyebrows together. “You sure you only want a ring?”  
“I…,” Cas darts his eyes from Dean to her, “…Yes….”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself. Pick out which on you want. In fact– take two.”

Dean watches carefully as Cas picks out which ring he wants. The rings are dumb things on stretchy bands with ugly stones or animal on them. Cas touches each one like they’re precious. He finally picks one up. It’s got a stretchy band and a nice, simple polished green stone on top. It’s one of the most attractive rings, even if it still looks kind of stupid. He then takes another ring with a stretchy band and an uncut white stone. Unlike the polished one, this one is jagged. When it shines in the light it looks kind of blue.

“I’ll take these ones,” Cas affirms.

“Alright. Congratulations on winning! Have a fun time at the fair!”

After thanking her and walking away, Dean finally asks Cas about the rings.

He looks a little…shy. “I– I was under the impression that it is usually custom to give accompaniment stuffed animals when at fairs. Or carnivals.”

Dean blinks for a moment before thinking about the stuffed animals. He flushes red.

Cas continues, “You did not like the stuffed animal I was going to give you, however you expressed appreciation for the rings being sold at one of the booths. I decided I might get you one. Or two.”

“I, uh…,” Dean flounders for words. He wonders if Cas knows that winning a prize for your date is a _romance_ thing not a _friend_ thing. He wonders what would happen if it were a romance thing. Would they kiss right now?

Dean doesn’t ask any of his questions. Instead, he says, “You should keep one. One of the rings, I mean.”

Yep. Dean Winchester, one smooth talker. 

“Cuz, you know, we’re both here together. And you won. The game, I mean.”

Dean would love to go burry himself alive right now.

Cas doesn’t say anything about Dean’s deconstructive sentences and instead, he smiles shyly. “I… thank you, Dean. That is very kind of you.”

Dean flushes. “Naw man. You won the game and all.”

Cas shrugs, smiles, “Still. Thank you. Here–” Cas picks up the white-blue ring and then takes Dean’s hand in his. The feeling of Cas’ strong hands, warm and calloused, sends shivers coursing down Dean’s spine and nerve tingling with sensation. Cas slips the ring on his first finger. It’s big and clunky and ugly and obvious. But it leaves Dean with a warm feeling.

Dean wants to offer to put Cas’ ring on, but he slips it over his own finger before Dean can do anything about it.

He tries not to feel too disappointed.

The rest of the fair is nice. They spend time at an art gallery of local painters. Dean’s uninterested, but Cas is intrigued.

“Art is one of the strangest human things I’ve come across,” Cas explains, “There seems to be no logical purpose for it, and yet without it the world feels empty.” 

Dean thinks about that for a while and thinks that maybe Cas is kinda right about that. He spends a little more time noting the details in the art they see.

After the gallery booth, they go to a self portrait booth. There are a few kids sitting in it with concentrated looks on their faces, but the majority of people there are adults which makes Dean feel a little more comfortable going there. They find two open stools and are handed pieces of copy paper and some mirrors. 

“Just draw what you see. It’s okay if it doesn’t look completely like you,” a cheerful woman with gray hair and wise eyes says.

Cas nods and gets to sketching immediately, serious about the entire ordeal. Dean tries to sneak a peek at his art, but Cas is hunched over too much. His left arm hides most of it. Dean looks back at his own blank paper and half heartedly begins sketching an oval– what he hopes looks the the shape of his face. He glances in the mirror next to him. He sees bags under his eyes and he has more stubble than he usually goes for. 

Jeez, this booth is the last booth on Earth Dean wants to be at.

He looks back at Cas. He’s sketching, immersed in what he’s doing. He looks kind of… peaceful like that. Every few seconds he checks himself in the mirror. Sometimes he frowns in response and other times he’ll nod thoughtfully. 

“He’s quite handsome, don’t you think?”

Dean starts at the whisper and he looks away from Cas to the runner of the booth. 

“Uh.”

The woman chuckles, “You’ve been staring at him an awfully long time, now. He’s handsome, yes?”

Dean swallows thickly, and after a moment of hesitation, he’s shrugs. “I- I mean, I guess.”

The woman smiles, the lines by her eyes crinkling. “My lady, Florence, looks at me like that. She says, ‘Sophia, you must be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen!’”

“Your– your lady?”

Sophia hums happily, “Married since it was legal. The towns folk around here don’t like it much.” She leans down, bracing her chin in her hand, staring wistfully at nothing. “She ain’t much of an artist like me. Works at the bank a town over. She’s very good with numbers. What about you and your boy there?”

Dean blushes, stutters, “He’s not– we’re not– he’s not my _boy_.”

“Oh, honey.”

“He’s _not,_ ” Dean insists, but Sophia just shakes her head.

“What’s your name, dear?” She asks.

The urge to lie and give the woman a fake name is strong, but something in his gut tells him to be truthful. “Dean.”

“Dean,” Sophia says in a sugary voice, “Any pretty boy like yourself who has no wedding band on their finger and gazes at their friend like that is in love.” Dean blushes, looks down at the one ring he _does_ have, the ring Cas gave him. Sophia notices and she gasps a little bit, like she’s found a pleasant surprise. “He’s your boy.”

 

 

-

 

 

A few booths here and there are nice, but the real place that Dean thrives is the restaurant.

“Dean, we had breakfast two hours ago,” Cas protests, “I want to play the shooting game again.”

“One: you can never have to much food. And two: that game was dumb.”

Cas pouts, but says nothing more on the matter. He allows Dean to lead him to lunch.

“Stay at the table. I’ll get us some grub, okay?” 

Cas still says nothing. Dean sighs and gets in the line for sandwiches. Cas can be stubborn when he wants to. Part of it is annoying, but part of it is kind of endearing. It’s… Cas. It’s the kind of Cas that existed before purgatory, before all their problems started. It’s a bit of _his_ Cas.

Sophia’s words float into his head again. _He’s your boy._ He blushes at the memory. A smile tries to inch its way onto his face, but he doesn’t allow it to. These are dangerous thoughts. Bad thoughts. Cas isn’t his. Dean doesn’t deserve him.

“Hey. You okay, buddy?” Dean blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. He realizes that he’s already at the front of the line. 

“Yeah, sorry. Uh, I’ll have two of your specials,” Dean says absentmindedly, still stuck on his negative thoughts. He hands the man his money and in return, the guy reaches into a cooler and gives him two wrapped sandwiches.

Dean thanks him and walks back to the table with the food. He’s about to sit down when Cas says, in a very confused voice, “Dean, we need to leave.”

“What?” Dean asks, “Why?”

“Erica, the doctor from the morgue, just called in a panic. She said that….”

Dean gives Cas an expectant look. When Cas doesn’t continue, Dean speaks. “What did she say, Cas?”

He swallows. “This is… getting strange. She said that, well, she said that she saw Sarah outside the morgue. She said that the man at the front desk saw her too.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise. “Really? Think it’s a ghost along with vamps?”

“It is a possibility,” Cas replies slowly.

“Here,” Dean tosses Cas one of the sandwiches, “Eat up. We’ve got work to do.”

 

-

 

 

When hey step into the morgue, there’s a different clerk at the front desk (thank God.) She’s a cute thing with blonde hair and glasses. She looks up at them with tentative smiles, and after a quick badge wave, she sends them in. It’s weird, considering they had to have visitor passes the last time they game, but Dean isn’t complaining on the extra time it’s given Cas and Dean to check on Erica.

They stomp down the hall quickly, and when they come to the door, Dean doesn’t even stop to knock. Instead, he turns the knob, happy to find it unlocked, and walks in. Erica is sitting down at her desk, filling in some kind of form when he finds her. She turns around and smiles.

“Hello, Agent,” she greets.

Dean opens his mouth to speak, a little confused. Cas said she had been freaked. Why did she seem so calm now? Her face seems calmer and free of burden. She seems… peaceful.

“We came as soon as you called,” Cas says, filling in for Dean’s speechlessness.

Erica smiles again, carefree and eerily calm. “Thank you, gentlemen, truly. It appears I’ve made a bit of a mistake, however.”

“Oh?” Cas asks.

Erica nods. She doesn’t stop smiling. “I realized that losing Sarah has been so hard for me that I’m seeing her everywhere. It’s just my mind playing games on me. That’s all.”

Dean nods, eyes flicking to Cas. He looks just as confused as Dean.

“You said that the desk clerk saw her, too,” Cas points out.

Erica’s smile finally drops, but barely. It flickers on a second later. “Did I?”

“Yes.”

She laughs lightly and then hums to herself. “I really was not in my right mind at the time.  I must have just been spouting nonsense. The desk clerk is long gone now, anyway. He’s on vacation. I apologize for having you come all the way out here, agents.”

Dean licks his lips. The hairs on the back of his neck lift. “Yeah. Sure,” he says.

“Call us if you need anything else, Dr. Bend,” Cas adds to the exchange. The two hunters leave the room cautiously, a little confused. Dean’s head starts to pound in time with his heart at they walk back through the halls. He holds a hand up to it and closes his eyes.

When they get outside they don’t stop walking until they get into the Impala. They lock the doors, and Dean starts driving before they finally speak.

“Did that seem… fishy to you?” Dean asks.

Cas nods slowly. “Very, very fishy,” he says.

 

 

-

 

 

“We have to call Sam.”

Dean groans into the motel bed’s pillow. Cas is right, they have to call Sam. Dean doesn’t like the idea of Sam worrying about Dean when he should be worrying about himself. 

“Fine,” Dean finally gives in, turning onto his back, “But we’re using your phone and you can do the talking.”

Cas shrugs and whips out his phone.

The phone rings loudly in the room before there’s a click and then a, “Cas!”

Dean sits up in his bed. “Ma?”

“Hello, Mary,” Castiel greets, “How are you?”

“Mighty fine, mighty fine. How are you and my boy, doing?” Mary asks. Dean groans.

“We are doing well,” Cas hesitates, “Well, you know your son. He is being Dean right now. He does not want to talk to anyone today.”

“That’s not true!”

Mary sighs, “What a gloomy Gus.”

Cas hums in affirmation.

“Okay, does anyone actually want to get back on track?” Dean interrupts, “You know, talking about the case. _Not_ talking about me. While I’m right here. In the room.”

Mary lets out her wind chime laugh that Dean had forgotten about for over three decades. Now that it’s back, it makes his soul ache. “Sam took some pain meds about an hour ago. He’s sleeping right now. Can I help you with anything?”

“Ever heard of a spirit rising in less than a week after their death?” Dean asks.

“An evil one?”

“No. Just… a spirit. Ghosting around.”

Mary huffs as she thinks. After a moment she speaks. “They’re mighty uncommon. Usually spirits have to reject their reapers. That takes days, and then it takes even longer for them to manifest. I’m sure it’s possible for it to happen, but it must be mighty uncommon.”

Dean sighs, afraid that the answer would be negative. “Thanks anyway, mom.”

“I’ll call you if I find any more information. And so will Sam, once he wakes up.”

“Alright. Love you, mom.”

“Goodbye, Mary,” Cas chimes in.

“Bye, boys,” Mary ends the conversation.

Dean sighs when Cas tucks his phone back in his pocket. Something about the case makes sense. There’s a connection there that he’s not getting. He thinks, tries to remember the lore that’s on the tip of his tongue, but a pain begins behind his eyes and he rubs his head, letting the subject go.

“We’ve got a couple hours to kill. What do you wanna do?” Dean asks Cas, trying to forget about the case for a few seconds.

Cas shrugs. “We already went to the crafts fair like I wanted to. What would you like to do Dean?”

“Well, I’d say I’d like to go to a bar, but it’s three in the afternoon,” Dean laughs.

Cas raises an eyebrow, “And when has the time of day ever stopped you from getting drunk.”

Dean nods his head from side to side. “True.”

“Shall we find the town pub, then?” Cas asks.

Dean snorts, “Don’t call it a pub you dork.”

 

 

-

 

 

The bar is closed when they arrive, but behind the bar happens to be Handy Lake, a manmade watering hole that’s all dried up. That’s not what interests Dean and Cas, though. What intrigues them is the rickety old house beside it. It’s been abandoned for twenty years. While it’s not exactly a five star resort nor is it in as good shape as the abandoned barn that Cas had found, it’s still in one piece. Besides, they should cover all their bases.

The home was once a cute, two story cottage with red shutters and white trim, but after years of open windows and doors having done damages to the interior, it’s caving in on itself a bit. Dean starts to regret the decision as they walk up the rotting porch. He’s been thrown around by every supernatural creature there is, but the one thing that hurts more than it all is a goddamn splinter. 

“Normally, I’d say we should split up, but if one of us falls through the floor, I ain’t riskin’ doing it alone,” Dean says.

Cas nods in agreement. “It wouldn’t be much fun if one of us fell through the floor and was stuck down there while the other searched the rest of the house.”

“Cas, this will never be much fun regardless of who falls through the floor.”

Cas smiles and rolls his eyes. Dean’s glad he’s been able to see Cas’ smile more often.

They check the right of the house with their flashlights off and their machetes on hand. They cross through the living room which has an old TV on its side, the screen punched out. Fold up chairs sit in a semi circle, empty beer cans littered next to them. 

“Teenagers?” Dean mouths at Cas. His partner just shrugs.

They keep searching.

The left of the house brings them into what must have been the study. There are no books, but there are floor to ceiling shelves and a big desk in the middle of the room. It’s in the best shape out of all the other rooms. Most kids probably don’t come inside. 

For a moment, they debate going upstairs, however the ceiling is caving in which means the second floor is probably caving in as well. They want as few injured hunters on call as possible.

With a second perimeter check and a defeated sigh, Cas and Dean exit the rotting building.

“That’s one place off our list. Should we check out the other houses?” Cas inquires as they walk to the car. They try to hide their machetes on the way, hiding the sharp objects in their jackets before depositing them in the trunk.

“Might as well,” Dean sighs.

They check the other homes just as thoroughly as they searched the first one. They do one round without flashlights, and then one round with them, searching for any evidence that anyone had been living in the abandoned buildings for more than a night with a couple of their friends and some weed. They don’t find much. A couple dead rats and some suspicious looking stains, but they seem pretty normal for empty buildings.

They leave the last one before the sun is down, confused and tired.

Dean checks his phone for missed messages and is pleased to find one from Sam waiting for him.

“Sam called back,” he informs Cas, “We should get back to the motel and talk with him.”

Cas nods, but he he looks deep in thought.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks.

Cas looks at the house from afar, his face suddenly turning sharp and into a look of pain. He holds a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.  
“Cas?”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a non convincing hand wave. “I just have a headache.”

“We’ll get you some Advil later,” Dean promises. He makes his way to the front seat of the Impala, “But, first, let’s get on back to our room.”

 

 

-

 

 

“There’s not much more to tell about the case besides the fact that Erica called us up yesterday claiming she saw Sarah walking around and then when we got there, she changed her mind.”

“She changed her mind?”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms, “Was all smiley about it, too. Said she talked to her therapist or something and that seeing her dead niece was just part of the grieving process.”

Sam makes a thoughtful “hmmf” sound and Dean hears the turning of pages over the line. “Any luck with the abandoned houses?” Sam asks, still searching through a book.

“Nope. Not even a sign that someone had been squatting in ‘em. Unless a few beer cans  from some local teens count.”

Sam snorts. “You never know Dean. If these vamps are slitting wrists, then maybe they’re chugging beer, too.”

“Har har.”

“But in all seriousness,” Sam says, voice deepening to it’s normal timbre, “I don’t think we’re dealing with vampires.”

“What? Of course we are. There’s– there’s drained blood. And um,” Dean stops to think for a second. There was that feeling again. That headachey, scratching pressure in his brain and that weight in his chest. He breaths in sharply in pain.

“You okay?” Sam asks from over the line. Even Cas turns in curiosity at Dean, concern obvious in his blue eyes.

“I–” Dean stutters, “I don’t know. Just, I’ve been getting this really weird migraine. Happens whenever Cas and I are on the job. It’s not a big deal.”

“Dean, I think you’re dealing with some ghouls.”

Dean screams. There’s a sharp jab in his brain and the feeling in his chest bares down on his lungs and he feels like he’s dying. He’s dying and he’s going to go back to hell, back to the rack. He screams until he realizes he’s not even screaming anymore. The sound is lost in the back of his throat and he’s– he’s falling. Falling, falling, falling. He blacks out before he hits the floor.

 

 

-

 

 

There’s an angel in front of him with big blue eyes when he wakes up. He smiles lazily, his body limp and loose and relaxed. Dean knows he should panic, wonder if his limbs are responsive but it feels like he’s coming out of a dream and he’s tired. He wants to go back to sleep.

“Dean?” The angel asks. His voice is deep and rich and that’s when Dean remembers that this is Castiel. He’s not an angel, but he’s a friend. Dean yawns, long and noisily.

“Heya, Cas,” he slurs.

Castiel lets out a breath of relief. “Thank god. I was afraid you were…,” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but they both know what would follow.

Dean smiles again. “Can’t get rid of me that easily Cas. Feels like ‘m high right now.”

Cas smiles a bit. That itty bitty Castiel smile where his eyes look like the sun and his cheekbones round his face like rolling hills. 

“I wasn’t sure what to do, but Sam told me that you would be fine after you slept the effects off.”

Dean closes his eyes, sleepy. “Effects?”

“Yes, effects. Ghouls are a branch off the Djinn family. Certain ones that are close enough to their djinn routes can…manipulate people,” Cas explains, “The one that we’re chasing blocked us from thinking of ghouls and leading us to vampires. They probably hoped that once we checked the abandoned houses we’d leave, thinking there was no case here.”

Dean hums. “Okay. I got another question.”

“Shoot,” Cas says. Dean smiles at the learnt language.

“Well, If I got completely destroyed by some mind whammy, why’re you still kickin’?” Dean asks.

Cas swallows, eyes suddenly clouded with worry. “I don’t know.”

“Did they, like, not curse you or something?”

“They didn’t curse us, Dean.”

“Don’t deflect the question,” Dean warns, high starting to fade away.

Cas stares down at Dean some more in silence before turning away and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I think they cursed me to less of an extent because they know I’m…weak.”

Dean frowns and gathers enough strength to sit up. “Just because you’re human doesn’t make you weak.”

Cas shakes his head, “That’s not what I mean.” He sighs when Dean doesn’t shake the confusion on his face. “Never mind.”

“Hey,” Dean says softly, “Seriously, what do you mean?”

Cas looks at his lap for a long, long while, not talking. Dean almost decides to forget about the question, but Cas is speaking. “I lost Sam.”

“What?”

Cas looks up at Dean’s stricken face. His eyes are wide and glassy, how he always looks when he’s on the brink of tears. He never seems to cry. Instead, he just stares with those blue eyes of his.

“Dean, I helped to call the Women of Letters to us. First, when I…played God, and then with the Leviathans. I killed thousands with those two acts alone. I helped to release the darkness, and I released Lucifer for no good reason. Those acts within themselves are weak and foolish. They were desperate plans of a desperate man.”

Dean’s face softens, but Cas turns away and won’t look at him. “Cas, buddy, I forgave you for those things a long time ago. And… you did those things for the right reasons.”

“Don’t make excuses for me, Dean,” Cas snaps, suddenly looking wild and angry, “I killed people and I let evils out into this world that should never have existed. These…burdens that you have had to carry because of me…,” he shakes his head tension still filling his body. “These things have… they led the Women of Letters to Sam. Dean, because of me, Sam was tortured. Harmed. That was on _my_ watch. She expelled me with a sigil and I couldn’t let it happen again.”

Dean frowns. “Cas _,_ none of that is on you, you hear? All of us have done damn stupid things that almost ended the world, trust me. And Sam? Sam’s fine. Because you helped us take those SOB’s down.”

“I just don’t see how you can’t be angry at me, can’t see me as weak.”

Those words are truly what get Dean going. He has no idea what Cas is talking about. Without Cas by his side, Dean would have lost so many fights, would have bit the dust for good.

“If anyone should be angry here, you should be straight up pissed with me,” Dean laughs in that deprecating way of his. He feels numb all over.

“I don’t understand,” Cas says in that curious tone that makes Dean’s heart squeeze, “Why would I be mad at you?”

Dean freezes. He closes he eyes and he smiles a bit, like he’s just heard a funny joke. He feels like someone punched him in the stomach.

“Cas, are you really gonna make me spell it out for you?” He asks, “Dude, you’re a _human_ because of me. You’re tired and eating and digesting and– and _feeling_. You’re hurting and you’re human, Cas. Because of me. And now the only human here to take you in is _me_ and you’re– you’re stuck with me now because of that. You’re stuck with ol’ Dean Winchester, the one who abandoned you and hurt you and was a _demon_ and _liked it._ Cas I’m a mess and you’re stuck with me because of me. How could you not be angry?”

Cas puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, his eyes so wide and sad. “Dean,” he murmurs, “I’m human because it… it is less vulnerable. In a way. No angel sigils can send me places, and no dying grace can end me. And I… miss being human a little.”

Dean laughs. “How? How could you miss being one of _us_?”

Cas slides his hand up to Dean’s neck, rubbing his thumb at Dean’s jaw. Dean’s breath hitches, his heart beat speeding up. Cas starts to lean in because Dean would never have the balls to get in close like this.

“I miss feeling, Dean,” Cas whispers on Dean’s lips, and then they’re kissing, scared and slow.

A tentative hand slips into Dean’s sandy hair, coddles his head and tugs on it lightly. His other hand supports him from where he’s leaning against the bed. Dean sags into the kiss, lets his tension drain and his hand tug on the material of Cas’ shirt. He lets Cas drag his lips slowly and lazily against Dean’s, let’s them tease and play before a hint of tongue tests the waters. Slowly– so fucking slowly –their tongues touch and the kiss becomes sloppy and loose and so fucking good. It’s everything Dean’s wanted and it’s also the worst kiss Dean’s experienced before. But he doesn’t stop kissing until his lungs want to burst and his senses only know _Cas._

 

 

_-_

 

 

They don’t wake up in each other’s arms because that’s too much of a cliché for Dean. Instead, he wakes up on the opposite side of the bed with a pounding head and all of his blankets taken by Cas. It’s a quirk that makes Dean smile a little, and for a moment he considers rolling over and scooping Cas up in his arms.

He doesn’t, though, because he’s a coward.

Instead, he gets up and gets his boots on, making coffee from the instant coffee maker in their room. When two cups of shitty joe are made, Dean shoves at Cas until he wakes up, groaning and groggy.

“ _Wha time’sit?”_

The sleepy words make Dean’s heart ache, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s a little past midnight. We only slept about an hour,” Dean says. He keeps his tone gruff and his face neutral. “I figured we needed to get that ghoul tonight, no later.”

Cas stares dizzily at Dean, like he can’t comprehend what Dean’s saying. After a moment or two, he finally blinks the sleep out of his eyes and nods.

“Okay.”

Cas gets out of the bed and grabs his coffee while Dean makes sure that their duffles are packed for the hunt. Machetes and flashlights are really all they need on this hunt, but you can never be too prepared.

When they’re all ready to go and they settle in the Impala– Cas driving because Dean’s doing the hand thing again –the silence suffocates them. Dean feels awkward, knowing what they did and what it means for their friendship.

“Um,” he says dumbly, unsure on how to proceed.  
“Save it,” Cas snaps.

Dean frowns, somewhat hurt by Cas’ tone. “Hey, I just thought–”

“You thought that we’d talk about it, admit it was a mistake and move on with our lives, right?” Cas asks. It’s the most passive aggressive Dean’s heard him. He’s always assumed that Cas would be quiet about this tension between him, but now that the cat’s out of the bag, Cas isn’t attempting to wrangle it back in. 

“Dean, the… the kissing was not a mistake. I understand if it felt like one to you, and there’s no doubt in my mind that you regret it, but I enjoyed it.”

“You can’t just put words in my mouth like that, Cas,” Dean argues.

Cas glances at him from behind the wheel. “So you weren’t going to say any of that?”

Dean says nothing.

Cas sighs. “That’s what I thought.”

 

 

-

 

 

Ghouls live in graveyards. If they don’t live in graveyards, then they at least hunt in them. All Cas and Dean have to do is find the den, bank the son of a bitch, and get the hell out of dodge. It seems easy in theory.

It’s not.

Brucester is a flat land with random bouts of trees. Small forests in the middle of nowhere. The graveyard is hidden under a cluster of them, each tree gnarled and thick. Every maze of fat roots that curve and cove make a perfect hiding spot.

“This is bullshit,” Dean mutters under his breath. Cas glances at him briefly. He turns his back on him.

He’s still mad.

Understandable. Dean stopped something that they’d seen coming for years. Cas probably believes that they have a chance, but Dean knows they don’t. He’s felt hope since that kiss. Hope for something more, but he knows that there’s nothing they can have together. Dean will ruin it like he ruins everything. He’s saving them from a disaster.

He keeps telling himself that.

“Dean,” Cas calls, suddenly and he jerks his head up. “Dean, I think I’ve found the den.”

Dean jogs over to Cas and shines the flashlight on a hole, wider than others and thick with the stench of rotting flesh.

Dean looks expectantly at Cas as they gaze down the hole. “Age before beauty,” he teases.

Cas frowns at Dean, but enters the cave anyway, the other hunter hot on his trail. Dean expected the hole to go straight down and for him and Cas to fall like Alice in Wonderland. Instead, the hole depends like a hill– more like a slide –and they scuffle down deeper into the den. The closer they get to heart of the hole, the stronger the scent of death becomes. It’s thick and bloody and it chokes Dean, suffocates him. 

“I think we’re almost there,” Cas murmurs.

Dean rolls his eyes, but stays silent. 

They hold their machetes in their hands tightly, gipping the handles, ready to cut off the head of any ghouls that come their way. The blade doesn’t reflect any light. The tunnel is dark and damp. Dean didn’t expect to see the silver shine, and the lack of it disappoints him, even if it doesn’t surprise him.

Cas stops abruptly, startling Dean so he skids to a stop behind Cas. He’s so close to touching him. He keeps his hands to himself and instead whispers, “Are we here?”

Cas’ breath is shallow and steady, but shaken. Maybe it’s the shock that he’s mortal, on a hunt. Maybe it’s the fact Dean is so close. 

“I hear breathing,” Cas replies.

They both hold their breathes, listening to the air. Indeed, there is muffled sounds of something gasping for air. 

“Hello?” Dean calls. The sound doesn’t echo off the dirt walls, but the volume is much too loud for Dean’s liking. 

Dean shines his forgotten flashlight around the room, gasping lightly at the sight of decaying bodies. They’re freshly dead, but with no missing reports, they’re all probably homeless people, or people from far away states. There’s only one live person in the room. They hang limply, arms high above their head and their mouth gagged, eyes shut, but fluttering. Blood, sticky and red and wet, runs down her arms. Dean shines the flashlight directly onto her face. The women’s eyes flick open and she’s squirming, screaming muffled words. Tear begin to pool in the corners of her eyes.

“Holy shit, it’s Erica Bend,” Dean says. Cas nods and immediately makes his way over to her, stepping over the dead bodies on his way. He cuts her loose with his machete and pulls her tight to his chest. Dean is a step behind Cas, pulling the duck tape from her mouth and whispering comforting things to her.

“We’ll get you outta here, Erica, okay? We got this, Cas and I. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

Erica shakes and cries, mouth unmuffled. Her sobs are hard to listen to. They’re so full of pain.

They begin their way out of the den together, all three hanging onto each other for dear life.

“Thought you could get away with my pet?”

Dean turns around, ready to slash his way out of the home of death. Instead, he feels darkness begin to take him. He drops his knife and falls to the floor, the world melting out of focus for the second time that day.

 

 

-

 

 

His arms are sore and he knows that his left shoulder is dislocated. The pain is not the greatest wake up call.

“Good morning, Winchester,” A sticky, familiar voice greets.

Dean opens his eyes and lets them adjust to the dark of the den. The scent of dead bodies is still thick and sickening. Erica– the ghoul inside Erica –doesn’t seem to care.  He looks around and sees Cas on the opposite side of the room. He’s strung up like Dean, except there’s a trickle of blood agains his temple and a dribble of blood leaks from his mouth.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Dean growls, panic beginning to build in his chest. He can’t lose Cas, he can’t. He hasn’t apologize yet. He needs to tell Cas he’s sorry for ruining what could have been theirs.

The ghoul rolls her eyes at Dean’s worry and shrugs. “He’s fine. Well. He’s alive, at least.”

Dean looks around the room and they fall on Erica. The real Erica. She’s dead at the ghoul’s feet. A bubbling, sizzling anger builds in Dean’s chest as he thinks of Adam. He was killed by ghouls. Him and his mom. They didn’t deserve it and Erica sure as hell didn’t, either. 

“Let me tell you right now,” Dean says between clenched teeth, “When I get out of these restraints– oh, and I _will_ get out of them –I’m going to kill you. And it will be one of the finest pleasures I’ve ever experienced.”

The ghouls laughs. The sound is happy and kind like Erica’s laugh. It sounds all wrong at the mercy of this monster. 

“You’d like to think you’d escape, wouldn’t you?” The ghoul sighs, “Too bad I’ll be eating you before you’ll even be able to try.” 

Dean huffs under his break, trying to feel around where the rope holding him is tied. He feels a rock. It’s not too sharp, but it’ll have to do.

“Actually, Dean,” the ghoul says in a contemplative tone, “I think I’ll eat your friend first. He’s lovely, ain’t he. A real catch, huh? It’s clear you agree with me. You want him and you want him bad. But you don’t think you deserve him. So tragic.” The ghoul hums in mock sadness and Dean feels the anger bubble and sizzle under his skin.

“He used to be an angel lady. You kill him and the wrath of heaven will be on your ass in an instant,” Dean bluffs. He makes his voice as threatening as he can, trying to divide her attention from where he’s frantically rubbing the old rope bound around his wrists against the rock he found.

The ghouls eyes flicker around and look of sick pleasure take over her face. Dean wonders if she’s spotted his escape attempt, but she makes no move to get closer to Dean. Instead, she stalks over to the ex-angel where he hangs limply against his restraints. A sharp tinge of fear zings up his spine as the ghoul puts her finger on Cas’ bloody forehead and laps at it, moaning at the taste.

“I seriously doubt that ‘the wrath of heaven’ will punish me,” she says, licking her lips of all the flavor left on them. “If they cared about him any, than he wouldn’t be… like this.”

“What? He wouldn’t be human? Or he wouldn’t be tied up and blood with some crazy bitch about to eat him?” Dean snarls.

The ghoul’s eyes narrow as she zones in on him. “I’d watch your tone if I were you, boy,” she says, “And I didn’t mean that this… thing was human.”

Dean feels his heart stop, but the confusion is short lived. He feels the rock snag on a loose thread in the rope and he feels his body ache with the hope of it catching and ripping. Luckily, it does. The rope slowly begins to come undone as Dean applies fiery friction to it.

“Castiel seemed human. Looked human. Smelled human.” She smiles fondly, “Definitely tasted human. Although maybe he was a bit… sweeter.”

“Listen you son of a–”

“Ah-ah,” the ghoul shakes her head disapprovingly, “I’ll hurt your pretty boy toy here sooner rather than later if you go about talking like that.”

Dean snaps his jaw shut and firm. He grinds the rope harder, hoping to get out of here as soon as possible. Cas is hurt and if he doesn’t do something soon Cas will die. Again.

Because of Dean.

“Where was I?” the ghoul asks in a sweet, mocking tone. She smiles at Dean, cocks her head to the side. “Little hunter, Castiel seems perfectly human, but he’s not. He’s a monster. A mutant. One of the things you are your baby brother hunt and kill.”

Dean growls deep in his throat. “Cas ain’t some heartless, piece of shit, cold blooded killer, lady,” he snaps, “Cas ain’t like any of you.”

“But isn’t he? He’s not human, Dean, and he’s definitely not an angel. So what does that make him?”

Dean swallows. He doesn’t have an answer to that.

“That’s what I thought, _Dean_ ,” she curses, spitting his name to the floor. Her smile she had kept up for appearances leaves her face and she looks evil and twisted. “Now listen,” she says, “I felt the wall I had placed in your mind break the second that you heard of my true nature. You must know that I’m powerful enough to mend minds and play tricks on people.”

Dean laughs, “Oh sure. I know all about your freakin’ mind manipulation bullshit. Still can’t figure out why the effects weren’t as bad for Cas as they were for me. Guess you really underestimated him, though, huh?”

“Oh no, you’re mistaken,” the ghoul hums, the smile slithering back onto her face, “I found how powerful Castiel was when I first laid my hands on him.”

Dean’s on his last braid of rope. It’s thin enough he can break free. Part of him wants to, but part of him… wants answers. He waits for her to continue speaking.

“See, I don’t just play with someone’s brain and then drink their blood when the time feels right,” she explains. Dean feels queasy as she walks over the corpses littered in her den. Escape is tempting, but he refrains. “I suck on some souls while I’m at it, drink up their life essence, and I see what really makes ‘em tick. You, Dean Winchester, live for the few people still living in your life. Like your brother.” She gets closer. _Crunch_ goes a hand bone under her steady footing. When she gets right up in Dean’s face, her breath smells even worse than the rot around them. She breathes on him as she says the next words, “Like your pretty little angel boyfriend.”

A slow, steady hand makes its way down the side of Dean’s face. “Castiel, though, he was so much _harder_ to crack. There was something so familiar about his delectable little soul. It kinda tasted like yours, did you know? Maybe it’s because you helped build his newly human soul from the tendrils of _divinity_ he had left.

“Or, maybe it’s that sexy bond you two have,” the ghoul laughs with a wink.

“Whatever the reason, his soul was so familiar, so human, yet so… different. A hard, broken shell. It made it _so easy_ to touch, but it was so very difficult to control. I couldn’t draw anything from it. It felt human, but it just… wasn’t. Angels aren’t met to fall, Dean, and yet Castiel has fallen so many times since he rescued you from damnation. It takes a toll on a soul. Half formed and mangled.”

Dean finds the machete when the freak’s monologue wraps up. It sparkles in the damp darkness and he knows that this is his shot.

_No, she’s too close._

“So, what?” Dean sasses, biding his time. He lets out a deep breath when she inches back from him, “You’re saying Cas is broken? Can’t be fixed?”

The answer chills him to the bone with an aching feeling.

“Yes, Dean. Castiel is too broken to be human, too broken to be an angel. He’s worthless.”

She laughs, turning on her heal, marching over dead bodies back to where Cas still hangs from the ceiling.

_Now._

With a ripping noise, Dean pulls himself down from where he was restrained, grabbing the machete from the ground between his tied together hands. With practiced ease, he cuts himself loose and rolls his wrist, listening to the creak of his bones. He takes a swing at the ghoul, but she moves back too quickly and Dean ends up hitting air. She lunges for him, teeth shining and sharp, eyes vicious and cold.

He’s shaking from the adrenaline, the fear for Cas’ life. His hits are clumsy and unsophisticated, but he chops at the air regardless, trying to hit his target. She doges every attempt, always striking back with a calculated move. She trips him and he lands on a pile of rotting flesh. He has to hold back his gag, and he tries to get off the floor and back into action.

Too late. The ghoul is pushing him back to the ground, pushing him back into the mush of death. She gets close, laughing maniacally and muttering ancient words in victory. He pushes her face off of him. He won’t let her get to him. He’s gotta save Cas. He’s gotta get Cas out of here.

With that thought in mind, he used the mound they’re on to roll them to the side, down the hill of old victims until Dean is atop her. She screams at him and it’s a horrible thing. It’s loud and high and it makes his ears ache. 

“Cas ain’t broken you son of a bitch!” he screams, holding his knife to her neck, “He’s not a freakin’ angel of the lord or a monster or even a damn human, but he could sure as hell can kick your ass six ways to Sunday. Oh yeah, he totally fucking could.”

With those as his last words, he slits her throat, watches Erica’s face contort in pain, watches the blood pool down the sides of her neck. He watches the skin attempt to mend back together and he slits her throat again. She struggles under his weight, but she’s weak right now and she can’t get him off. 

“You were right about one thing, though,” Dean whispers, taking delight in cutting up her neck again and again, watching her suffocate and choke on the borrowed blood of a victim she killed. “I want him. God, I totally fucking want him. I don’t deserve him, but I love him, and I’ll be damned if I lose my chance to tell him that because of _you.”_

This time, instead of slitting her throat with a delicate, practiced touch, perfected after ten years cutting up people in hell, he presses and pushes the blade. He watches as her trachea and esophagus sever and he watches as the blood rushes out like fast, dark, red waves. He watches as the bones crunch under his hands. He waits when her neck is hanging on by a thread. She’s still alive, eyes rolled back and body twitching, attempting to fix itself from where it stays on the brink of death.

Finally, once he feels she’s suffered an efficient amount, he ends her. He slices that last bit of skin and he feels a rush of power, of pleasure, of delight, as her blood dries on him and the last bits of life drain out from her eyes.

He stays there, staring blankly at the corpse under him before the adrenaline drains from his body and he goes limp. The ache of being tied up and thrown to the ground finally hits him, and he cries out in the shock of it. His shoulder is definitely dislocated, and his wrists are rubbed raw. Everything is pounding, his tailbone is bruised if not broken. He doesn’t let himself feel the pain for long, though. He gets up and makes his way toward Cas’ unconscious form. He cuts him down from his ropes, unties his hands from being together. Cas’ skin is red and tender and Dean holds Cas’ body close to him.

They’re amidst piles of decaying flesh, Dean’s covered in blood, they’re battered and bruised, Cas is unconscious, but it’s the most tender moment Dean’s had in years. The feeling of Cas body pressed against his own makes him weak. The fact that Cas’ body is freezing instead of burning makes him shake.

What if he’s dead?

Shit, what if he’s dead. What if Dean is too late? What if Dean could have prevented all this. Maybe if they had communicated better, if Dean hadn’t started that stupid right then Cas would be okay right now. Dean holds two fingers up to Cas’ pulse. The steady beat calms his nerves. He finally begins to drag Cas out of the muddy hole. It’s hard to drag a grown, six foot tall man when everything feels broken, but somehow Dean manages. He can’t carry him, so he drags him, the man’s feet creating paths in the mud. He gets Cas into the back of the Impala as the sun begins to turn the sky an early gray. Once Dean is sure Cas will be okay where he is, he goes back and covers up the drag marks that he left behind. He wouldn’t want anyone to find the den of death. He hopes that the animals eat it up until there’s nothing left but old, decaying rope. 

 

 

-

 

 

He dreams of hell for the first time in months. He’s not on the rack today. Instead, he’s holding the knife. Alistair is there in his demon form. It’s an ugly thing with dying skin and thick horns that come out the side of his head where his ears should be. He has no eyes, but his mouth is full of teeth. His body is covered in the fur of a hyena. He looks like fear and he smells like anguish.

“Good job, boy,” he whispers in Dean’s ear, licking the sell of it with his long, forked tongue, “You’ll get a sweet treat tonight.”

In the dream, Dean grins and he laughs.

There’s another Dean in the dream who watches it all happen. He doesn’t smile. Instead he cries for all the times that Dean has never cried. He cries for all the people Dean has lost and for all the people Dean has hurt. He cries for his dead father– the one who died in Kansas with his mother. He cries for the death of his mother. He cries for his baby brother’s girl who died in a fire. 

The Dean who laughs looks at his tools. He inspects each one carefully and picks one with a thin, handle and a thin, sharp pointed blade.

“Oh, that’s a good one. You used to love it when I used that baby on you. You would cry so prettily,” Alastair hisses.

Dean just keeps grinning. He touches the tip of the instrument, satisfied with the quality of it. Finally, he applies it to the forehead of his victim. He lets the tip of it pierce the skin and he watches when blood bubbles up. He gasps. The first cut is always the best cut. He moans at the smooth _slice_ the blade makes as he drags it up the victim’s forehead. A dribble of blood drips down smooth skin. Dean starts to apply more and more pressure to the blade. He watches it sink in an inch, two inches. He pulls it out, watches the flood flow out in a wave. 

“God, that’s good,” he breaths. He plunges the tool back in until he feels it hit something and a ray of light beams into hell, cold and blue and celestial.

The Dean who cries closes his eyes and breaths in deeply. _Thank you, thank you. You are here to save me. Thank you._

Except the light is not coming from above. The light is pouring from Dean’s rack. A piercing, angelic shriek of pain makes the crying Dean– so human, unlike the Dean with a grin on his face –start to dissolve. He feels every atom and particle pick away from his skin until nothing is left where he was standing.

“Now, Cas,” the grinning Dean chastises, “That’s not very nice. I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

He leaves the first tool in Cas’ brain before looking over his array of other devices.

“Hmmm… what do I have for you today?”

 

 

-

 

 

Dean had been free of nightmares for a few nights on this hunt. Having one so _vivid,_ so _painful_ came as a shock to the senses. It startles Dean and sends him flying out of bed. He kicks the blankets off and paces. He feels disgusting, feels sick. He imagines the ghoul’s neck coming off and the _excitement_ he got from it.

It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

Cas isn’t the monster here. Dean is.

He runs a hand through his hair and cusses. He’s dirtier than the stained carpet in every motel Dean’s ever stayed at.

“Dean?” Cas croaks from where he lays on the bed. It’s the first he’s said in the hours he’s been asleep and Dean forgets about his problems for a minute. He runs over to Cas’ side. “Hey, are you– I’m– I thought–”

Cas frowns at Dean with his crinkly brows and his pouty lips and Dean swallows the rest of his jumbled words. The look feels familiar and it grounds Dean.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas asks. Dean lets out a bout of hysterical laughter at Cas’ question. Is Dean okay? Dean’s a fucking monster, no one cares if he’s okay. The question is if Cas is doing fine. He was out for so, so long. He was so cold….

“I’m peachy, Cas,” Dean says instead of telling him everything going through his mind, “But what about you? How’re you feeling?”

Cas face softens at Dean’s concern and he scoots over so Dean can sit on the edge of the bed. “I… I’m cold. But only temperature wise. Otherwise I’m… well I think I’m a little chilly there, too.”

Dean smiles a bit. He sounds like his old self and the relief that settles in his chest feels so refreshing. There’s still fear in him, though. Still that bit of self doubt inside him. He thinks of what he told the ghoul as he killed her. He told her that he would tell Cas that he love him.

God, he loved him. He loved Cas so fucking much and it scares him. Cas has died so many times without giving Dean the chance to say those three magical words. Maybe… maybe it’s time to finally say them. To finally let Cas know how he feels.

A gentle touch to his temple shakes him out of his thoughts. “Dean,” Cas whispers lowly, “Dean what happened? Are you okay?”

He swallows a lump in his throat. He thinks about his dream. He remembers the pleasure he felt from hurting Cas. He thinks about those three words. _I love you._ Could he say it? Say it while knowing that his subconscious will encourage him to kill Cas over and over and over again until he’s twisted and hardened and broken like the ghoul had said he was?  
“Dean, it’s okay. It’s– it’s okay, Dean,” Cas stutters. He looks lost, heartbroken, and Dean doesn’t know why. He feels Cas’ warm hand on his cheek, his thumb wiping at his cheekbones. He feels wetness spread over his skin. That’s when he realizes that he’s crying.

He’s crying.

“Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Dean curses, and he scrambles to get off of the bed. Cas wraps an arm around his waist before he can go anywhere. Dean freezes at the touch.

Cas looks at him with an understanding expression, one that offers acceptance and offers support.

It just makes Dean cry harder because _God_ he fucking loves this man in front of him. He loves this man that is neither and angel nor a monster nor a human. He is simply _Cas._ He is _Castiel._ He is the love of Dean’s life. Shit, _he’s the goddamn love of Dean’s life._

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing when he bends down to touch his lips to Cas’. They’ve only kissed once before, but with the easy way that they move together, it feels like they’ve been doing this for years. 

The kiss is soft and slow and sweet, and it’s over all too soon. When they part, Cas pats Dean’s side of the bed. “Lay down, Dean,” he whispers, “We’ve only got one more night.”

Dean swallows and takes a shaky breath. “Okay.”

He slides into bed next to Cas like he’s done several times before, but this feels new and different. There’s something wonderful blossoming between them. It makes Dean ache and it makes him so goddamn happy. The emotional whiplash hurts.

“What do you need, Dean?” Cas asks him in the same gentle voice that invited him to bed.

The words get caught in his head, caught in his throat, caught on the tip of his tongue. He’s embarrassed to say it, nerves like none he’s ever experienced before catching hold of him.

“Can you, uh,” he mumbles, “Can you hold me? For a bit?”

He looks away from Cas before he can see his expression. His voice, however is soft when he replies. “Of course, Dean.” Then, after a few seconds of contemplative silence he adds, “How would you like me to hold you?”

Dean clears his throat, a nervous tick that he does when he’s embarrassed.  “Just, uh, however. Like, from the side is good, I guess. Where I lay on my right side and then you…lay against my back.”

Dean turns to his right, and he hears Cas shuffling around so he can lay how Dean asked. Suddenly, there’s warmth. Their thin shirts allow Dean to feel every line of Cas’ chest muscles, the hard edge of them, the smooth skin over them. He shivers at the sensation that being against a man feels like. Cas takes his arm, big and masculine, and he drapes it over Dean’s side, hugging Dean against him, covering him, making him feel small and protected.

“Is this adequate, Dean?” Cas asks, his voice lightly teasing.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, his voice cracking, “Yeah, Cas, this is real good.”

Cas hums, and the feeling of it vibrates the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck. He feels perfect where he is, feels better than he has all week in the arms of his best friend.

“I…,” Dean starts once he’s comfortable. He wants to… get these things off his chest. He needs Cas to understand what this _holding_ thing means to Dean. What being with Dean means for Cas.

“I had a nightmare tonight,” Dean finally confesses. He feels Cas tense against him. “I haven’t had a nightmare since before I got mind whammied, so it was, ah. It was pretty intense.

“I dreamed of hell for the first time in a really, really long time. It kind of sucked more than usual. I mean, most times I dream of the usual, you know? Like, um, being str-strapped down to the, uh r-rack myself, but this time I was…,” Dean takes a breath to calm his nerves and to stop his stutter, “I was the one doing the, um, stabbing and the torturing and all that. Heh.

“It wouldn’t have been that bad, I guess, expect for the fact that the person who I had strapped to my table was, well, was you.”

Cas takes a sharp intake of breath. Dean closes his eyes and feels the tears start to fall again. God, he’s never been such a fucking cry baby before. He controls himself before he starts again.

“Cas, in my dream I strapped you down and hurt you. And _I liked it._ I carved you until you screamed and I was smiling the whole damn time. Cas, I’m not just a mess. I’m a monster.”

Cas lays a fluttering kiss to the back of Dean’s neck. “No, Dean. You are a good man. One of the greatest men I know.”

“I’m really not, Cas.”

“Answer me this, then,” Cas says in a very upbeat, un-Cas like way, “Did you wake up and see me sleeping, so you picked up the first weapon you saw that you could find to hurt me with?”

Dean rolls his eyes even though Cas can’t see him. “Well, no, but–”

“You were worried. Scared. Weren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but–”

“Dean, you’re not a monster. You would never hurt me for pleasure. You are not that kind of man.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. Cas doesn’t _get_ it. “Dude, I… _played_ with the ghoul before I killed her. I watched her bleed and I watched her suffer because I _wanted to._ How sick is that?”

Cas is quiet for a moment and the fear of rejection starts to creep into Dean’s mind. This is why he keeps his thoughts and feelings to himself. It may be unhealthy, but it sure as hell beats the alternative of revealing what sort of things linger in Dean’s mind and soul.

Cas moves the arm the he rested his own head on and he puts it under Dean’s head instead. It’s surprisingly comforting, and it makes him feel closer to Cas.

“I’m sure you had a reason for what you did,” Cas whispers after a long while of quiet, “You never do things without being worked up. What bothered you?”

“The ghoul said something to me that wasn’t true. Wasn’t true at all, man,” Dean admits. He feels the ghoul’s bones crunching as he digs into her neck with his machete. He shudders at the memory. “She said you were broken. That your soul was all out of whack. Too mangled for her to do her mind thingy on you.”

“Well, she’s probably right, Dean,” Cas sighs against Dean’s neck, “I’m no angel and I’m… bad at being human. It would make a lot of sense.”

Dean scoffs. “No, it wouldn’t. Dude, you’ve done some shit in the past that you ain’t proud of, but so have I, okay? You’ve also done a lot of really brave, heroic things, too. You’ve done a lot of good for this world.”

Okay, here it comes, Dean thinks to himself. 

“You’ve, uh, kind of made me, uh,” he stutters, “Kind of made me, um, crazy about you. Err, jeez that sounds so fucking cliché. Just. I’m in love with you, Cas. And I just wanted you to know what you’ve gotta deal with before you sign the contract for good, you know?”

There’s silence from Castiel for a long moment. It makes Dean squirm in Cas’ grip. He feels kind of… awkward. He’s trapped by Cas and he’s getting rejected by him. The silence stretches so fucking long it’s unbearable. 

“So, uh, yeah. I guess we can forget about that now,” Dean rambles, trying a bit too late to save himself from complete humility. His cheeks burn red with his confession and his stomach fill with nervous butterflies.

“Dean,” Cas finally says, “I… I love you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, but not in the same way, I get it, whatever. I’m a big boy, I can move past this,” Dean jokes. He feels himself chipping away inside. Cas’ grip becomes insufferable.

“Dean, I assure you that I love you exactly how you love me,” Cas replies instantly, “It is just… I don’t know if love is a strong enough word.”

Dean scoffs, unable to keep the sound inside. “You’re a goddamn sap, asshole,” he bites out. He sounds indifferent, but it’s because he doesn’t really know how to sound… happy. Dean hasn’t been happy in so many years and now this is happening. It’s overwhelming, to say the least. He swallows down his doubts and fears and he tries to be excited. To welcome this new thing into his life.

He finds Cas’ hand where it’s draped across him and he laces his fingers through Cas’.

“I’m happy, Cas,” he says, just so Cas knows, “God, I’m really happy right now. I know I don’t sound excited or anything, but I’m really, really glad that this is happening, you know?”

Cas hums, happy and content against Dean. “What do you need?” he asks again.

“Just you,” Dean replies. His voice is thick with unshed tears. It _hits_ him suddenly. In a giant wave of emotion. He chokes and feels everything bloom in his chest.

“Oh god, Cas. Need you so bad. Fuck, I love you so much,” he gasps, turning his head and capturing Cas’ mouth with his.

It’s been so long since they started this. It’s been so goddamn long. Eight years of dying for each other and hurting for each other and pining for each other. It all comes out now in a giant whirlwind of passion. 

Dean gasps against Cas’ mouth, licking his way into him, tasting the roof of his mouth and his tongue. He feels so goddamn good against him. He’s solid and present and Dean needed him so bad. For eight years he’s needed this.

“What do you need, Dean? What do you want?” Cas pants, tugging Dean closer. Dean feels Cas’ hard on against the back of his thigh and he gasps. It’s not up yet, but it’s enough to feel hotter than normal and it’s enough for Dean to push back on. 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean mouths against Cas’ jaw, _“Oh oh oh, Cas!”_

“Dean, what do you need?” Cas asks for a fourth time.

Dean licks at Cas’ lips, kisses his neck. “I had a fantasy about you,” Dean admits, “‘bout waking up with you pressed against me, just like this.”

“Just like this?” Cas asks, humming at the pleasant feeling of Dean’s mouth on him.

“Mmmhmm. ‘cept you were, like, _really_ against me,” Dean tries to explain. He pulls away from Cas, embarrassment taking over again.

Cas makes a disapproving sound. “Don’t hide from me, Dean. Tell me what you need.”

His breath is hot and humid and it makes Dean moan slightly. “I… I thought about waking up with your, uh, dick. Against me. But, um….” He trails off, unsure how to explain what he’s trying to portray. A shiver goes through him along with an idea.

Dean sticks his hands under the covers behind himself. He shuffles down a bit so Cas’s cock is right against one of his asscheeks. Dean takes a breath to steady himself before he leads Cas’ clothes cock between his asscheeks. He feels his boxers ride up so they push against his perineum in a slightly uncomfortable way. It’s worth it to feel Cas’ hot cock against his hole.

“Oh shit, yeah,” he breaths, “That’s– that’s what I need Cas. I just want to f-feel you.”

Cas groans at Dean’s words and gives an abortive thrust against Dean. It causes them both to gasp out loud.

“Shit, Cas, yeah,” Dean babbles, “Yeah, I liked that, do it again.”

Cas hums, pleased that Dean is leading him in this, telling him what he likes. 

“What else, Dean? What do you want?” Cas’ voice cracks as he asks. He’s just as wrecked as Dean, but he’s holding it together better.

“Hands. On me. On my dick, and….” Again, to embarrassed to say anything, he leads Cas hand draped over him under his shirt. He leads it over his stomach, presses the large palm to it’s pudge. He moans at the pressure. He moves the hand up against until it reaches his pecs. He leads it to one of his nipples. Cas, luckily, gets the message. He takes the bad of his thumb and carefully roles it over the nub in gentle circles.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs contentedly. Cas pinches lightly at Dean’s nipple, rocks between Dean’s cheeks, hot and hard and getting harder. Dean allows his own hand to travel under his boxers to his dick. It’s half hard already from a little rubbing. It makes Dean moan, thinking about how much Cas effects him. He strokes himself in nice, long strokes.

“What do you need, Dean?” Cas asks, voice husky with lust.

“This– this is _oh_ enough. It’s per-perfect Ca-as,” Dean stutters with each slow thrust that Cas makes. Dean briefly wonders what it would be like to have that big, thick cock inside of him, filling him up.

The thought causes pre-cum to drool out from Dean’s cock, staining his boxers and making his slow strokes more slippery, easier. He fingers his slit a bit and he shakes with the feeling, sings with it.

Cas tugs sharply on his nipple and it makes a surprising burst of pleasure flow through Dean from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. “Cas, I– I need– tug my h-hair.”

Unfortunately, that means that the hand playing with his nipples has to leave his chest completely. The quick tug of the strands on his head more than make up for it.

“Oh, baby, yeah,” Dean sighs, “That’s– that’s good. Just– thrust against me a bit– more. Like that, yeah. Right up against my hole– _oh.”_

Dean gasps at the hot tap against his asshole another spot of pre-cum appears and _fuck_ Dean is positively _leaking._ He rubs against the head, slides a finger behind his balls as Cas taps against his hole again. He can feel Cas’ pre-cum through his boxers. It’s so fucking hot and Dean cries out in awe at the new feeling.

“Cas, I need you to– to hold my hand. Please,” Dean moans, “Your hands are so _big._ Can hold both of mine in yours. Makes me feel safe, or– I don’t know– wait! Wait! Stop!”

Cas immediately stops the frantic thrusts against Dean.

“Wait. I wanna change positions,” Dean sigh, “I want this to last.”

“We’ll have many more opportunities to do this, Dean,” Cas replies. His voice is hoarse, and sincere.

The promise of _more_ makes Dean smile. “I just wanna see your face when we come, okay?”

Cas hums in understanding, and he lets Dean mauler him onto his back before straddling him.

“This okay?” Dean asks.

Cas lays big, warm palms on his hips and smiles. “Very much so.”

Dean takes Cas’ cock in hand and fits it back between his cheeks. They both gasp at the feeling for the second time that day.

“Oh, yeah, that’s– that’s good,” Dean chokes out, “Didn’t think this could be so goddamn good.”

“Me neither,” Cas grunts before taking a hold of Dean’s cock. Dean shudders and begins rubbing and grinding back on Cas’ cock again, feeling it’s thickness. It’s wet and sloppy and hard _because of Dean._ God, that’s so fucking good, so fucking hot….

Dean takes hold of Cas’ free hand like he’d asked for moments ago. He grips it tight as he feels his climax coming. He bounces harder against Cas, sticks a hand behind him to rub at Cas’ balls. Cas _howls_ at the sensation, striping Dean’s cock faster and faster, trying out different pressures, seeing what makes Dean moan the loudest.

They tip over the edge together, squeezing their hands together. Cas looks beautiful when he comes. His eyes flutter, desperate to stay open and his mouth opens silently, his face flushed a pretty pink. Sweat dots his brow and bruises litter his face, but he’s gorgeous regardless. 

And he’s Dean’s. He’s all Dean’s.

Dean flops to his side and peels off his come stained boxers, wiping gently at his sensitive dick. Cas watches Dean and follows suit. They take off their sweat-soaked tees and throw them to the floor along with everything else. Finally, they’re naked, nothing between them. They spoon again, Dean with his back against Cas’ chest. They fall asleep holding hands and they wake up with them still clasped.

 

 

-

 

 

Check out was fairly easy. The man at the front desk looks at them funny, no doubt having had heard their activities from that night. 

Dean loads their duffles into the Impala while Cas walks over to the nearest convenience store for snacks and coffee. Dean’s cup doesn’t have a lid today. Instead, the steam rises out of the cup and the sky reflects in the dark liquid, still as ever. Dean’s hands don’t shake today.

They get in the car and Dean keeps the windows down and the radio up. It feels like a nice day today. They hold hands as they sing songs together on the way back to the bunker. They kiss a lot, when Dean can afford to take his eyes off the road. It’s different today. More jovial. Dean doesn’t know what he was so afraid of. Why he thought that loving Cas meant the end of the world. Instead, it feels like it’s the beginning.

When they eat all their snacks and finish off their coffee, they stop for gas. Cas fills up baby, readying for his turn at the wheel and Dean goes inside to buy gummy bears and some more drinks. It feels kind of domestic in a way. Like Cas and Dean are married and on a road trip together. The idea is silly, but Dean feels warm thinking about it. This feeling of being in love, of being happy, is so, so wonderful.

“Dean,” Cas says half way to Kansas when they’re back on the rode. He’s not looking at Dean, keeping his eyes in front of him. There’s a grin on his face, though, and Dean feels butterflies in his tummy at the sight.

“Hmm?” Dean makes a thoughtful noise in response. He gazes at Cas. The sun makes his face glow bright and beautiful. He doesn’t look heavenly or otherworldly anymore, however. Instead, he just looks happy. Whole.

“Dean,” Cas repeats, the sun shining on him in that glorious way it shines. “It’s so warm.”

Dean smiles at that. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's done! This is the hardest I've worked on a fic before. There were times I was writing 6k a day to finish it up for the premiere day. I was a couple hours late, but I still got it in, so that's a win to me! This was super fun to write, though, and I'm exited to start working on other projects now. 
> 
> I want to thank my beta Anika because, even though she doesn't have time to edit this right now she was super encouraging. This fic might be a bit choppy because of my lack-of-betaing, but it will happen eventually.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: dudewhatswiththeshorts.tumblr.com  
> Check out my beta on tumblr(!!!!!!!!!): antitomatoblog.tumblr.com


End file.
